


Black Strap and Black Feathers

by CreativeSweets, topcatnikki



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Burlesque Club, Alternate Universe - Wings, Burlesque, Fantasy, Here there be puns, Katsudomm, LLYBB Bing, Lapdance, M/M, Romance, Wingfic, eros mode engaged, prompt: molasses, prompt: tap, rip vitya you never got laid, the Bois are all birbs, we might have played ourselves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 20:18:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14480418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreativeSweets/pseuds/CreativeSweets, https://archiveofourown.org/users/topcatnikki/pseuds/topcatnikki
Summary: The lights dim and even though Victor knew Eros wouldn't be dancing first, his heart still skips a beat.Soon....Victor is easily entranced by the swinging hips and dark wings ofEros, the Black Strap Burlesque Club's headlining bird. Little does he know there's more to their connection than meets the eye.Written for the LLYBB Bing #3





	Black Strap and Black Feathers

**Author's Note:**

> Nikki: To anyone who reads this: Blame Sweets I'm innocent I swear she put me up to it. Also have Y'all seen this shit? This is some serious arting and writing I'm so fucking proud of our dorky asses because legit this team has been amaze
> 
> Sweets: This was _so_ much fun to write! My first time co-writing and I had an absolute blast! Hope everyone enjoys!
> 
> Art by the amazing [dyeingdoll](https://dyeingdoll.tumblr.com/)

The bar is heavy with the scent of smoke and whiskey, the smell of the cheap tap beers permeating the places where the mens cologne wore thin. Victor had been here before years ago, when he was younger and the whole thing sounded far more risque that it had been in actuality. It hadn’t changed, in fact, the scent of the place was enough to ruffle Victor’s feathers and have him humming along to the thrumming bass of slow jazz.

 

He isn’t here for the music though, he isn't here to be titillated and teased, he is here for _Eros_. The incarnation of bodily lust in the flesh, lauded on posters with knowing smirks and heated eyes. Seduction in the swing of his hips and the sound of his feathers as he danced.

 

Well, actually he’s here to support his best friend’s partner’s debut as a headliner and should actually be paying attention to Christophe right now because his wings were almost vibrating in excitement as he pulled up a chair to a sticky table near the stage.

 

There’s jazz piping through tinny overhead speakers, muffling the conversations around them as the waitress, a redhead with a bright smile and smoky voice, took their orders and brought their drinks. The place is filling up now, the hum of ruffled feathers growing louder as the clientele negotiate the packed space trying to find a place to lean, sit or just stand and wait for the show to start.

 

Victor hadn’t been in the club for so long that the suddenly packed space felt almost too much for him, it had never been this busy when he’d been fresh faced and elfin featured, drawing more than a few stares and offers from the manager Celestino, if he remembered rightly. He’d turned them down flat, always. It was more than his career had been worth, forging a path into the aerial ballet on silvered wing and fleet foot with the eyes of the world on his lean limbs and graceful countenance (if you believed the press of course). He’d met Christophe and introduced him to the Black Strap Club when a baby faced Chris had joined the troupe as a budding understudy.

 

And yet, here he was, back again and up to his old tricks, his distinctive wings drawing more than one speculative look as he chats idly to Christophe about Phichit’s upcoming number, which Chris is keeping under wraps under pain of death from his partner, and tapping his fingers against his whiskey glass. He’s pushing his attention on Chris to dispel the knot of anticipation that had built up at the thought of Eros, he’d seen the YouTube videos on the Black Strap website and heard the whispers, but he wanted the full experience…

 

The lights dim and even though Victor _knew_ Eros wouldn't be dancing first, his heart still skips a beat.

 

_Soon._

 

Chris is practically vibrating next to him; his anticipation infectious as Victor feels his bright blue wings flex out in response.

 

“Heeeeee _llo_ everybody!” Good, _god,_ the MC was always so bubbly. “I hope you're all doing real well tonight,” they continue, “we've got lots of _bewitching_ and _tantalizing_ performances tonight!”

 

The whole club is a cacophony of hoots, hollers, and whistles.

 

“Yes, yes! How _exciting!_ And I'm pleased to announce our first dancer: coming from the far off land of Thailand, young little Peach Parfait!”

 

Chris’s wing taps his side as the spotlight fall on a—admittedly rather cute—tanned man.

 

“Go baby, go!” Chris shouts from next to him.

 

Peach Parfait gives a blinding smile in their direction and blows a kiss. Victor gets another wing to the side.

 

“Isn't he just the cutest?” Chris whispers over to him as the music started up.

 

Oh.

 

_Oh._

 

“That’s Phichit?”

 

Chris's answering grin is telling.

 

Victor watches as the young tan man rolls a shoulder back and raises a wing alongside his hand. He could definitely see why Chris liked him. His bright red wings complement Chris's and then there were the scattering of gold decorations pinned to his feathers. All in all, a very attractive bird.

 

Just not who he was here for.

 

The music crescendoed and that's when the first of the clothing came off. Cheers sound out and Phichit soaks it all in as he beams and continues to tease off the rest. With a little twirl Phichit manages to send his _rather skimpy_ ruffled skirt right into Chris’s lap; he even added a little wink for good measure. Victor had to admit as he watched Phichit slide his hands up his legs, gold was certainly a good look on the man. Tan fingers fan out in front of his face and a coy smile is revealed seconds later.

 

As the end drew near, Phichit’s red wings furl out completely and faint jingles from the ornaments draw attention to the impressive bright crimson. They then curl in, covering Phichit as he spins around in place, before coming to rest in an alluring way, one wing half in front of him. Chris is out of his chair even before the music was over, whistling with his fingers. There’s a cheeky grin thrown their way before they watch Phichit prance off the stage as the MC gears the crowd up for the next dancer.

 

Victor settles back with his drink, sipping absentmindedly as the next dancer came out. It’s only when he felt a tap on his shoulder did his attention come back. He looks over his shoulder only to find Phichit there with a small grin on his face.

 

“Phichit.” A hand is put in front of him.

 

“Victor,” he says as he shakes the offered hand.

 

“I know,” he purrs as his grin grew sinister, “Chris told me you’re here to see the one and only _Eros_.”

 

Victor fights back a blush at the _way_ Phichit said that. He clears his throat, “Yeah, I am.”

 

Phichit only hums as he takes a seat next to Chris. After exchanging some cute little coos with each other, Phichit turns his attention back to Victor.

 

“You’re in for a treat tonight.” His eyes glint ominously.

 

Mark Victor down as (slightly) scared and horny.

 

A hush fell over the bar as it’s finally time. The MC is revving the crowd up for the headliner; Eros is about to come out. A pulsing beat sounds out and there were whistles as a spotlight falls on an ankle that was peeking out of the curtains; black strappy heels accenting the cream skin. More leg shows as the melody came in. Victor’s mouth ran dry. Or, more accurately, his mouth became dry as he chokes on his whiskey.

 

Chris shoots him a concerned look.

 

When the chorus comes in, the curtains fly open to reveal one sultry and glittering Eros. And then he licks his lips and black iridescent wings fill the stage behind him momentarily.

 

 

They curve down attractively as Eros walks—no—struts forward in time with the music. The lights catch the shimmering stones placed on the top curves of his wings along with hinting at the colors woven within the sleek black feathers. Victor sucks in a sharp breath as a black wing tip taps the side of his face and he locks eyes with the dark angel in front of him. Eros winks at him before he slips his sheer dress off.

 

Victor is doomed.

 

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

 

Victor hadn’t known that a life could change in less than an hour—but as he elbows through the tight packed crowd, obstensively attempting to find some air and some way to ground himself—he’s reflecting on the concepts of _Kismet_ and _Fates_.

 

Eros is _more_ than stunning. Eros is _more_ than temptation. Eros is Vitya’s _everything_ and he needs to find him, to talk to him, to draw his eye and his touch to him just as surely as Eros had done Victor’s.

 

Victor’s hands are still shaking, stuffed deep into his pockets to hide the smell of his spilled whiskey and hide the way he keeps looping his thumb over his fingers and back again. It’s an old tick his mentor, Yakov, had trained out of him at a young age. Yet it’s back again with a vengeance, along with the shaky feeling of his wings shuffling nervously behind him, the way they always had before a performance when he’d been nothing but a tiny kid.

 

Victor barely notices the way the cool air curls under his wings bringing blessed release of some of the tension in his shoulders and spine, he doesn’t notice because he’s not noticing much beyond the jackrabbiting of his pulse in his throat and the sound of his heels as they hit the pavement and ducks around to the side of the building.

 

Victor pulls in a breath, and then another. He watches the way the cold Detroit air turns it into tiny puffed clouds of moisture and allows them to dissipate heavily, counting each cloud as it disappears into the dark night. He’s up to fifteen when his attention is pulled away by the sound of an emergency door opening into the depths of the alleyway.

 

 _It could be Eros_ …

 

And just like that his thumbs are winding over his fingers again, and he’s ducking his head shyly under the shadow of his fringe, waiting to see the man who worms his way through the orange-lit asphalt of the alley.

 

It isn’t Eros, of course it’s not _Eros_. Victor’s luck hasn’t ever been good enough in love for it to be Eros. The sharp orange of the light pole throws brilliant relief to the face of a guy with flat black hair and matte black wings, blue framed glasses perched on his clammy face. The guy freezes in place the moment upon catching sight of Victor, then ducks his head and shuffles past in the tight space of the alleyway, darting a quick look to Victor’s face on his way past.

 

Victor, shivering a little at the cold now, files away the fact that it seems the stage door lets out on this side of the building, and determines that if he ever returns, he might catch sight of Eros here. He retains it for later, not loitering, definitely not waiting with his wings tight to his back for warmth until Chris comes spilling out of the stage door, giggly and bubbling over with his hand in his partner Phichit’s dragging him along and off to the next bar for celebratory drinks.

 

Victor spares a glance for the stage door as it slides shut noisily.

 

_Next time…_

 

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

 

Victor comes back the next week.

 

Victor Nikiforov, the principal dancer of the aerial ballet and Yuuri’s number one dance idol growing up, is front and centre as Yuuri peers through the thick red velvet of the stage curtain, careful not to let the light hit his features.

 

What the hell was he doing back again? Had one nerve wracked showing of Yuuri’s shaky legs and twitching wings not been enough for him? It hadn’t been _terrible_ but Yuuri could feel the tension in the way the air hit his wings as he’d danced that he hadn’t been up to his usual standard. Too thrown off by those flashing eyes and blue-white wings to show himself at his best.

 

Yuuri hadn’t spent years of his life cultivating the art of burlesque and of courtesans of old, learning every way to enchant men and women alike with just a flip of feathers and a look, to be thrown off his game by one measly guy. Even if that guy was Victor Nikiforov. Yuuri takes a steadying breath, blocking out thoughts of the way his wings had almost twitched in surprise when he’d spotted Victor at the table with Chris the week before, blocking out the memory of having to dash out of the stage door with his head ducked wondering if Victor was looking for him to tell him he’d been a disappointment, a fuck up.

 

He can do this.

 

This time, Yuuri wouldn’t fuck up, this time Yuuri would hold his head high and his wings aloft and _really_ show Victor what he could do…

 

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

 

Victor returns the next week.

 

And the _next_.

 

Yuuri isn’t sure what to make of it at first. He’s seen men fall at his feet for the last nine months—the duration of his stint as _Eros_ —seduction in dark wings and darker looks, but he’s never had a regular who watches him as intently as Victor does. Yuuri feels the weight of his gaze every time he takes the stage, watches from under hooded lids and smokey liner as the lightest of blushes covers the bridge of Victor’s nose.

 

Oblivious, he’s been called—a tease and a seducer—a playboy. No matter what others may think of himself as Eros, Yuuri is not stupid enough to ignore the fact that Victor pays little to no attention to his fellow dancers. That Victor looks listless and bored throughout most of the performances, a wry smile may creep onto his features during the weekly appearance of Leo and Guang Hong’s comic performance. Victor might watch Phichit’s dances with a small smile and warm eyes. It’s only Yuuri’s performances that make him sit up and take notice, that have his wings shifting and feathers rustling.

 

Weeks slide by and Victor turns up every Friday, impeccably turned out and waiting for Yuuri at the stage door. So far Yuuri has managed not to be caught by him though, he seems to think the real Yuuri a bland counterpart to the persona he shrugs on and sheds each week. Yuuri can’t blame him really, without the shine of the stage lights his wings are a dull black that almost blends exactly with his hair, without the makeup he’s round faced and incredibly _normal_. Yuuri rustles past Victor at the stage door every week, headphones jammed in after the second week when Victor had tried to talk to him and he’d stammered out a response that had Victor asking if he needed to sit down for fear that Yuuri looked faint in the dim street lights.

 

Yuuri may mishandle and shuffle through his interactions out on the street, he might stammer and avoid eye contact, but on the stage he stands tall and proud. He’s safe when he’s ensconced in the carefully constructed persona of Eros, confident and strong and deadly. Yuuri funnels every powerful feeling into each swish of hips and each piece of cloth he loses as he works the stage, sweat beading at his temples and the feel of Victor’s eyes pulling him forward.

 

Yuuri’s feet—clad in killer stilettos—hit the main floor of the club. The sound of the steel tips cracking through the sinuous beat of the music pounding through the speakers as he slides through the tight packed tables, fingers teasing over the angle of a shoulder here and gripping a jaw there, as he undulates to the bass of the song. Each pair of eyes is a buzz, another hit to his Eros ego as he carries himself through the fingers that reach out holding twenties and fifties like they’re so many flowers offered up in praise to his beauty.  

 

All the while Victor watches.

 

Yuuri would be lying if he said it didn’t have him turned on, knowing that he could grab and hold Victor’s attention so thoroughly. It makes him feel ever more powerful, ever more _Eros_ as he accepts the notes held out gingerly to him. If Victor knew, he didn’t let on. If Victor saw the way Yuuri’s eyes roved over him every week he didn’t show it. If Victor were willing for more…

 

“Hey - Katsudon! You’ve got a solo request. One of those gross old dudes that can’t keep their tongues in their mouths is in the back room.”

 

“Oh, thanks Yurio.” He’s in the dressing room, patting down his slightly smudged contour after his opening dance of the night. Solos were part and parcel of the job, something Yuuri took in stride but didn’t much look forward too, some of his customers could get a little… worked up by his approach and it wasn’t massively conductive to getting his job done. More of them were either hypnotised or grateful for a tiny sliver of Eros just for themselves, thanking him profusely for his time.

 

Yuuri gives himself the worlds quickest wet wipes bath, freshening up as best he can to head out to the back room, recently vacated by Phichit who passed him in the hall with a bright smile on his painted lips as he rushed to get into this next costume. Yuuri himself was wearing one of his favorite pieces, a soft black baby doll neglige that tied in a halter with a skirt of tulle that ballooned when he spun. He looked soft and sweet in it, miles away from the sharp angles of the Eros of the headline, but that was what the people who paid for their solos were buying—something a little less biting and a little more approachable. Yuuri might have a little something hidden underneath the neglige that would get hearts pumping and feathers twitching, but that was up to the customer if the wanted to see what he had in store for them.

 

Phichit has tidied the little room after his own solo, the tiny stage is set to one side with a single chair next to the box of toys that Sara specialises in and Yuuri dabbles in at request but only for a very high price—you have to be willing to part with real money to see that side of Eros up close—and the plush chair that most of the customers prefer to watch from. Yuuri lines up his solo playlist, setting it to shuffle and then moves to clear the floor of the stage, his tiny bedroom heels tapping over the surface as he places the box atop the incredibly sturdy chair and places them against the wall. He’s just settling to perch on the edge of the stage, wings folded demurely and spilling from the edges of the rickety wood when there’s a knock at the door.

 

“Come in,” He pitches his voice for the bedroom. Everything Eros does leads to the bedroom whether he’s on stage or in the back room. Yuuri adjusts the straps of the halter, ensuring optimal effect as the door opens to his call and a slightly ruffled and nervous looking Victor Nikiforov enters the room.

 

Another time, in another place, Yuuri would have probably run for the hills screaming about his lack of worth in general at being in a very enclosed space with his idol and about to rub himself all over said idol’s lap.

 

Not today.

 

Today, Yuuri has been left at the door and Eros buries the muffled screams of his fanboy-self behind a knowing smile. He lets his gaze rove over Victor sinuously slow—slower than molasses in January—and takes in Victor's hesitance at the door

 

He could almost pity the man, the way his eyes dart over the room and skittering away when he catches sight of Yuuri, perched elegantly and still smiling like the cat that got the cream. He won't though, he could never because Victor Nikiforov was _asking_ for it, had been begging and pleading for it with every shakily held out hundred and with the request for a private dance. Those solid facts are at the forefront of his mind as he leans further into his pose and almost purrs, “Aren't you joining me, Mr. Nikiforov?”

 

Victor's expression is hesitant but his steps sure as he takes a seat, he darts another look at Yuuri and asks, “How does this…?”

 

“Work?” Yuuri can't help but lean forward, minimising the distance between them minutely and watching Victor's fingers tighten where they're bundled in his lap. “Surely you've had the pleasure of a lapdance before, Mr. Nikiforov.”

 

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

 

_“Surely you've had the pleasure of a lapdance before, Mr. Nikiforov.”_

 

Eros is pushing himself from the stage, on his feet and into Victor’s space after tapping the remote that had been stashed at the edge of the stage, bringing the sound of [ _Body Say_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jca0B2lbqpU) over the speakers. Victor gapes at him for a second, but a second is enough for Eros to drag his fingers over the curve of his jawline

 

“No, yes! I’ve—” Eros watches Victor stammer with an indulgent smile.

 

“Ah, I see you’ve had someone put on a show for you at home, huh? Some sweet little thing try to entice you…” Eros circles him like a shark scenting for blood. “Well, Mr. Nikiforov…” Eros is front and centre again, leaning into Victor’s space and curling his fingers in a tease over Victor’s collarbone that has him shuddering and gripping his fingers tighter. “I’m afraid amateur hour is over.” He straightens, looking down on Victor with his wings belying amusement. “Three rules, Mr. Nikiforov: no touching, _no_ kissing of any kind, and no I’m not giving you my number.”

 

Victor swallows, the click of his throat is audible over the sound of Demi Lovato as he nods. Eros considers him for a second, swaying a little on his feet as the song changes to something lighter and sweeter that has Eros’ feathers fluttering in a cascade that turns into a sinuous movement as the bass kicks in.

 

Eros backs away from Victor, the music a swirl that has Eros lifting his arms to trail them elegantly down the length of his wing joint, then back up to his shoulders in a movement that brings his hands to the nape of his neck. The loosened folds of dark chiffon fall like flower petals when they’re released, descending in a wave and revealing the lace and ribbons of a garter belt that frames his thick thighs and makes Victor’s mouth dry in milliseconds. Eros slips a finger under the lace of one of the stockings, running it up over his hip and torso in a slide as he moves back into Victor’s space.

 

And then it’s all so much skin and all of those feathers as Eros finds a handhold on the chair over Victor’s shoulder and drapes himself across Victor’s lap as though he owns it. Which he pretty much does at this point, if Victor is honest with himself. Eros is miles of bared skin and huffed breaths as he moves over Victor, he moves _with_ Victor because while they aren’t touching there’s something so intuitive about the way Eros moves that Victor can’t help but be drawn into it.

 

Yet Victor isn’t watching the miles of skin, nor the teasing turn or Eros’ hips. Victor is hypnotised by the bright brown eyes and parted lips, the light blush and the way Eros’ teeth catch on his tongue. He’s pinned by the familiarity of those eyes, by the scent of Eros and the way it tickles a memory of one too many drinks and the sound of huffed embarrassed laughter. The memory is gone before Victor can catch it, lost in a gust of feathers as Eros’ encases them in the impressive span of his wings as Eros stills in his lap.

 

“Am I _boring_ you? You seem to be a little preoccupied?” Eros asks with a quirked brow, but there’s something beneath the demeanor that belies worry, something in the tremble of feathers and the edge of a dangerous smile that sings of softness undiscovered.

 

“ _Boring,_ _you?_ I think the fuck not!” It slips past Victors lips in a second of huffed breath and no engagement of brain to mouth filter, something that he usually does if Chris goads him into it. He’s usually better at not letting people see the idiot behind the public persona, but he freezes with a lap full of beautiful burlesque dancer and awaits Eros’ response with baited breath.

 

Eros giggles.

 

He giggles and suddenly the feathers surrounding them are shivering with mirth and Eros is pulling back. “Oh my god. I’m not meant to _giggle_ during a lapdance, oh my god—”

 

And as if Victor hadn’t been head over heels already, he watches as Eros’ protestations only feed into his giggles and the guy just melts into a puddle of huffed laughter that pulls Victor under its wake. It’s… adorable, really. Victor hadn’t expected Eros to have a laugh that brightened a room, he hadn’t expected Eros to make a tiny whine sound th the way he tries and fails to regain his composure, but by the time they’re both a little more steady it’s mostly because they’re clinging to each other—Eros steadying himself on Victor’s shaking shoulders while Victor ensures the guy doesn’t fall of his lap with his hands gentle on Eros’ waist.

 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry! We’ve run out of time and it’s mostly because—” Eros wafts a hand between them, looking endearingly embarrassed as he climbs out of Victor’s lap. “I have to get ready for the close, oh crap—”

 

“No—No! It’s my fault I set you off—”

 

“Next time I’ll get you back, okay?” Eros is grabbing his negligee and already making for the door.

 

“Who said there’d be a next time?” Victor wants to kick his own ask for saying it, but Eros just grins cheekily and winks as he calls: “There’s gonna be a next time Nikiforov, I guarantee it~”

 

And Victor knows better than to even debate it, he’s doomed after all.

 

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

 

 _“So…”_ Chris starts when Victor calls him, _“you finally did it, huh?”_

 

“Yeah,” Victor huffs, “and it was a spiritual enlightenment.”

 

Chris's laughter filters through the small speakers of his phone and his wings ruffle at the sound. He’s embarrassed it took this long to actually work up the courage to ask for a private dance. He’s Victor Nikiforov for fuck’s sake! But for some reason, he’s reduced to a blubbering mess whenever Eros is involved.

 

Now, more than ever, Victor is determined to get what he wanted, and _boy_ did he want Eros. The question here isn’t whether he should, but rather _how_ he should. It’s not like he knew who Eros was. But maybe—just maybe—Chris might know. Or, more likely, Phichit might know. Yeah. That’s definitely a good idea.

 

“Hey Chris,” Victor starts once his friend’s laughter died down.

 

_“Yes?”_

 

“Do you think Phichit knows who Eros is?”

 

The silence that followed is deafening and Victor’s unsure exactly why it had started.

 

_“You’re shitting me.”_

 

“No?”

 

A long sigh sounds out and Victor could just picture Chris pinching the bridge of his nose.

 

 _“Victor, you know I love you, yes?”_ Chris continues without giving pause for an answer. _“But you’re as dense as a brick, love.”_

 

Victor scoffs but didn’t— _couldn’t—_ refute that statement. He’s been told on multiple occasions how _dense_ he can be. So Victor did what he does best; he pouts at the light teasing.

 

_“Phichit has a bestfriend, you know.”_

 

“Yes?” Victor vaguely remembers meeting this bestfriend at a house party a while ago. Black hair and even blacker wings flutter through his mind from fuzzy memories.

 

_“His name is Yuuri.”_

 

“M’kay.”

 

_“That’s it.”_

 

“What’s it?”

 

 _“Yuuri_ is _Eros.”_ Chris finally says with a withering sigh.

 

“What?” His voice is small and sounded oddly far away to him.

 

_“Victor?”_

 

“Oh, _God._ ” Victor’s brain unhelpfully supplies the rest of Yuuri’s image and— _fuck._ Yuuri had walked _right past him_ that first night. And all those other nights too.

 

Chris is talking again but Victor wasn’t paying attention. There’s only one thought ricocheting around his mind:

 

_He fucked up._

 

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

 

Armed with a big bouquet of multicolored roses that reminded Victor of Eros’s—no— _Yuuri’s_ wings; a couple gourmet roasted nut packages from a place where Victor knows the owners; and courage that at this point, seems borrowed; Victor shuffles nervously in front of the apartment door that Chris dropped him off at. He’s been assured by Chris that Phichit wouldn’t be in until late; they were going to a movie and dinner.

 

He tries to relax his wings as he listens to the doorbell ring. Finally he gets them to the point of not screaming _“I’m nervous as hell”_ just in time for the door to swing open and—there goes all his hard work.

 

“Did you forget your keys again—” Yuuri freezes as he takes a look at who’s on his doorstep.

 

Yuuri is resplendent in a soft blue sweater and sleep pants. How Victor glossed over this wonderful bird is completely unknown, but he’s going to do his best to correct that grievous mistake.

 

“G-good evening.” _Ah, Nikiforov, just go ahead and broadcast some more how nervous you are._ He clears his throat before he continues. “I just wanted...just wanted to get to know you better, and Chris said that Phichit said that you’d be here tonight. And I figured since we already knew each other—okay, well, not _knew_ knew each other, but we’ve been _introduced_ —”

 

Victor is cut off by the light sound of giggles. His heart skips a beat and he tries not to think of how much of a walking disaster he is right now. He took in the sight of Yuuri with his thick-framed glasses and soft hair and a raised eyebrow.

 

Wait.

 

“Are you planning on coming in?” Yuuri teases, “Or are you planning on staying out on my doorstep all night?”

 

“Ah, right! Yes!” Victor hastily agrees as he steps over the threshold. Sparing a long, curious glance around, he notices that the apartment is a conglomeration of different styles: there were deep royal reds and purples along with soft dewy blues and pinks. They clashed somewhat, but it gave the space some charm and Victor says as much.

 

“Yeah, we get that a lot,” Yuuri laughs, “We don’t really care too much about it though, since this is our home and we don’t have to impress anyone else.”

 

“No?”

 

“Mmm, nope.” Yuuri pops the ‘p’. He turns to Victor and then the full weight of his curious eyes weigh on his face. “You might want to give me those before they end up too crushed.”

 

Victor look down to where Yuuri’s gesturing and startles a bit at the reminder of the roses in his hand.

 

“These are for you,” Victor starts, “they, uh, reminded me of your wings.”

 

Victor would move mountains to keep seeing that faint, small smile on Yuuri’s face.

 

“Thank you.”

 

“Ah, and I got these as well.” Victor holds up his other hand, showing off the bag the nuts were in.

 

Yuuri peers into the bag and lets out a huff of laughter.

 

“What?” Victor said, tensing up.

 

“Nothing,” Yuuri smiles back, “I love _Madame’s Gourmet._ ”

 

“Oh, good.”

 

Victor feels his nerves dissipating as he banters with Yuuri. This feels _right,_ this feels _natural._ He didn’t want to ever give this up.

 

“I was wondering,” Victor starts, “whether you would allow me to show you something.”

 

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

 

Yuuri tips his head and watches as Victor’s smile turns into a determined visage. He feels his wings give a small twitch at the sight. _He’s so beautiful._ He allows himself to be guided onto the couch and then Victor’s twirling—glorious blue wings glinting in the apartment’s low light.

 

Reminiscent of his aerial ballet, Yuuri watches Victor spin and contort his wings into ever increasingly difficult positions. His face is warm. There is no way this was actually happening. Is—is _Victor Nikiforov_ actually dancing for _him?!_

 

There’s a moment where Yuuri had to pinch himself to make sure this _isn’t_ a dream. Because never in his whole life would he have guessed that _Victor Nikiforov_ would be in his apartment—let alone _dancing_ for him.

 

“Victor…” Yuuri trails off as he watches Victor stop.

 

“There’s so much I’ve been wanting to say,” Victor pants, “but this was the only way I could think to even _begin_ to try and tell you.”

 

Yuuri stares at Victor and observes the glint in his eyes. It’s the same look _he_ gets when he thinks about Victor. That _I know what I want_ look that—at this moment—is really, really sexy.

 

He blushes. Of all the times to finally get self-conscious. He’s been more than half naked in front of the man before! Why is he like this?!

 

“Well,” Yuuri chuckles, licking his lips and preening as he notices Victor track the movement, “it took you long enough.”

 

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

 

Somehow Victor’s back is against the wall and then _Yuuri’s_ there with his hands roaming over his chest and lips teasing his jawline. He shudders.

 

_“Yuuri.”_

 

“Shh…” There’s a kitten lick to his jaw and electricity crackles down his spine and Victor tries to keep control over his wobbly legs. The mating dance had been… successful—well, more than successful considering he had armfuls of ridiculously hot burlesque dancer only seconds after…

 

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve waited for this moment, _Victor,_ ” Yuuri breathes. His breath is hot against Victor’s lips, making it hard to form any coherent thought. All Victor feels is the _want_ surging through him. _Need_ rearing up and urging him to bury his fingers into those sinfully dark feathers surrounding him. He feels the slight tremble in those feathers and realizes with a start that Yuuri _wants_ just as much as he does.

 

Yuuri’s hands are _everywhere_ , his fingers tangling through the short hairs at the nape of Victor’s neck, trailing over the skin of a collarbone, catching on the clasp of Victor’s button up and loosening the fabric. The first touch of Yuuri’s lips to his chest is more than enough to have Victor groan in encouragement, Yuuri takes it as an invitation and soon Victor’s shirt is somewhere on the ground.

 

Plush lips found his again and suddenly they’re moving—to where, Victor has no clue, but he sure hopes it’s the bedroom. He vaguely registers the swish of clothing and his knees hit the back of the bed. Yuuri is a whirlwind around him, hot lips and persistent fingers ridding him of clothing and leaving Victor naked and hard below him.

 

Victor’s graced again with Yuuri’s wings in all their splendor as he stretches them out to cover the both of them. He can’t help himself as he brings his hands trailing up over the sensitive undersides. Yuuri giggles as he touches a particularly ticklish area and Victor preens. He could listen to Yuuri’s giggles all day. Everyday. His heart-shaped smile is completely involuntary, yet more than welcomed.

 

Then his fingers brush the soft secondaries and Yuuri _moans_ , his body shifting unconsciously against Victor’s _._ Yuuri looks down at him through half-lidded eyes and smirks at the way Victor pushes up into the contact.

 

“You seem to be enjoying yourself…” Yuuri purrs, leaning into Victor’s space and rolling his hips in a way that is all _Eros_.

 

“Well,” Victor starts, “aren’t you being _cocky._ ”

 

Yuuri stops and pulls himself up. “Did...did you just…?”

 

And apparently Victor just can’t help himself because his grin is nothing short of shit-eating as he replies, “Let’s not make this _hawkward.”_

 

Yuuri groans at the terrible pun then his face becomes blank, yet his eyes shine with unconcealed mirth. His lips twitch, betraying his amusement as he states, “You really... _quack_ me up, Victor.”

 

The room fills with laughter as the two revel in their shared dorkiness. Victor loves it, this hidden side to Yuuri’s elegant and forbidding Eros persona which has him giggling and playfully tapping Victor’s chest weakly as he fights to regain his composure. Victor isn’t having it as Yuuri tries to apologise; he quirks a brow and chirps, “I’m glad I didn’t _ruffle your feathers_ too much.”

 

Yuuri practically collapses at that, his eyes feeling as though they would stay permanently stuck in a roll, weakly protesting Victor’s silliness. “Well there goes the mood…” Yuuri grouses with a tiny pout that is all kinds of adorable.

 

“Fuck the mood, this is much more _amoosing_.”

 

“You ran out of bird puns, didn’t you?” Yuuri states with his eyes closed.

 

“Oh my _goose_ , Yuuri. How could you, I will never _egret_ my puns!”

 

“ _Toucan_ play at that game.” Yuuri digs his fingers into Victor’s wings, eliciting a screech.

 

_Oh it’s on._

 

Victor doesn’t let him get away with his attack, he buries his fingers in Yuuri’s sides, tickling mercilessly and rolls them, unfortunately, right off the bed. Their limbs tangle and there’s a sickening thud as Yuuri’s skull connects with Victor’s chest. For a split second Victor thinks that Yuuri is shaking because he’s hurt, a sickening pit opening in his stomach at the thought that he’d harmed his mate. Yuuri sits up and Victor sees his glorious smile and everything is right in the world.

 

_“Marry me.”_

 

As far as proposals go, having nearly knocked out his incredibly naked mate after a round of bad puns while sporting an impressive hard on is probably the least romantic thing Victor could possibly come up with. Yuuri doesn’t seem _too_ put off though because he laughs again, a sweet light sound that has Victor wanting to keep it forever.

 

“It’d _bee_ my pleasure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out [ dyeingdoll's tumblr post](https://dyeingdoll.tumblr.com/post/173426028452/my-entry-for-bing-3-held-by-liveloveyoibang-for) for a couple more cute drawings!


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